


The Last of Us: Part III

by Daniel_Writes



Category: Ellie - Fandom, The Last of Us
Genre: Abby - Freeform, Gen, lev
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daniel_Writes/pseuds/Daniel_Writes
Summary: A direct continuation of the game series. No retcons. Discover what happens next. (Spoilers for the first two games.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. The Beach

DISCLAIMER: All art, characters, and concepts are property of Naughty Dog. This work is purely an homage and not for profit.

**The Last of Us**

**Part III**

Prologue

The Beach

A bloodsoaked waif sat on the misty California shoreline, watching a boat go out to sea. She could make out only the silhouette of another woman inside it, hunched over the prone body of a boy with scars on his cheeks.

 _Why?_ The bloodied woman on the shore, Ellie, stared up at the oppressive gray sky, the promise of rain like a headsman's blade. Her gaze shifted to a second boat, still tied to a broken wooden tether. It wasn't too late. She could still reach her rifle. One shot and she could make it right. Make it all go away.

A sob wracked her. Was there still such a thing as 'right' in this world? Could anything ever exorcise the ghosts in her head? She struggled to her feet, staggering from the pain, blood oozing from a puncture wound in her side, her bitten fingers stinging from salt water. She plodded towards her boat, towards the rifle.

Ellie dragged herself inside. Feeling the waves rocking beneath her on the shoreline. She grabbed the rifle and lay it in her lap. Too scared to use it. Too scared not to. Watching the other boat recede into the distance. Watching Abby disappear.

 _Too late._ Her heart had made its decision. She wouldn't add one more ghost to the count. She couldn't. Her enemy dwindled to a speck and vanished into the mist. All Ellie's strength vanished too, and she collapsed into a hollow between the boat's benches, pressing a hand to her wound, wondering how long it would take her to die. How long it would take for someone to find her corpse.

Would it be the Rattlers? The escapees? Infected? Some lone refugee who'd find her with her guns and her journal, like she'd found so many others? Thunder rumbled. Rain began to pour as if the heavens wept alongside her.

"Joel," Ellie murmured. "What was I supposed to do? Joel . . . Answer me . . ."

But the sky held no answers.

Ellie passed out.

* * *

Lick. Ellie felt something wet against her cheek. She opened her eyes, hand going for her knife. Then, she stopped.

Staring at her was a scrawny waterlogged mutt, medium-sized with long stringy dark fur. It wore a shiny gold collar marred with a bloodstain that still looked fresh. Its owner must have died recently. After all any dog that had been out alone and scavenging in the wilderness for a while would probably treat her more like a meal than a friend.

"You hungry?" Ellie asked.

The dog just cocked its head and panted at her.

Ellie reached for her pack, gasping in pain. She glanced down at her abdomen and saw the bleeding had stopped. So long as she could scrounge up some antibiotics from the Rattlers' compound, she was probably going to make it after all. "This piece of shit world isn't done with me after all, huh, boy?" she asked the dog, fishing through her belongings. She pulled out an oatmeal raisin cookie in a plastic wrapper—something she'd scavenged.

She tore open the wrapper, broke the cookie in half, gave one piece to the dog, and nibbled on the other. It was hard, stale, and she hated oatmeal raisin. But she ate it anyway.

Time went by. At some point she passed out again. When she awoke the second time the mutt was gone, along with half her rations—shredded wrappers strewn about, a chocolate candy bar among them. She hoped the dumb dog hadn't poisoned itself to death.

Above, the sky had cleared, clouds giving way to the endless pinpricks of stars. Ellie winced as she pushed herself to standing, and slung her pack over her shoulder.

It was a long way back to Jackson.


	2. Home

DISCLAIMER: All art, characters, and concepts are property of Naughty Dog. This work is purely an homage and not for profit.

**Act I**

Chapter 1

Home

_Two years later_

"No!"

"Come on, JJ." Ellie held up a piece of french fry towards a plump dark-haired little fellow in a onesie sitting in a high chair at the kitchen table of Dina's tidy Jackson home. "It's good. See?" She took a bite. Hot, crispy, salty, rich. "You try."

"No!" JJ repeated, scrunching his round face.

"He's still too young," Dina said, leaning against the counter. "His taste buds aren't fully developed."

"How do you know that?" Ellie asked.

"Read it in a baby book. Try it sometime, Aunt Ellie," Dina replied.

"Ah-ellie!" JJ proclaimed.

"That's right, that's me," Ellie said. She brandished the fry again, and again JJ clammed up. "Oh well. Your loss, kiddo." She polished it off herself, and had a few more for good measure—all that remained of the meal Dina had made for her.

"Mama! Apple!" JJ chirped.

"Okay, baby," Dina said. She pulled an apple out of the fridge, went to the cutting board and started to slice it up into neat pieces. Ellie watched Dina work, the waning sunlight through the window highlighting her bold nose and making her dark hair shine.

"Have you thought about my offer?" Ellie asked.

"Have you thought about mine?" Dina countered.

A heavy pause. "I just, um . . . I think I'm better off staying at the farm," Ellie finally said. "Open spaces . . . They help me, you know, keep my head clear."

"Well, JJ's a handful, and plus with Jesse's parents . . . I can't just pick up and leave Jackson now."

"No, of course not. It's, uh . . . It's fine."

"But I'd like it if you'd keep visiting," Dina said.

"Me too," Ellie replied.

"How's Cat, by the way?" Dina asked, bringing over a plate of sliced apple to JJ.

"Is this a trap?" Ellie asked. She reached for a slice before Dina batted her away.

"I'm just curious," Dina said.

"Seems like a trap," Ellie said.

"I'll take that as a, 'no comment,'" Dina replied.

"No, I just . . . Nothing's going on. We just talked a couple of times," Ellie said.

"And you don't have any secret girlfriends on the side?" Dina asked.

"I wish," Ellie said.

"Oh, you do, huh?" Dina prodded.

"I mean, there is this one girl," Ellie said.

"Go on."

"She's cute. Dark hair. Jewish. Kinda short, though."

"Look who's talking."

"Shut up," Ellie said. "Also, she's a great mom. There's just one thing."

"What's that?" Dina asked.

"I don't know if, uh . . . if I deserve her," Ellie said. "You know?"

Dina sighed. She sat down next to Ellie, taking Ellie's hands. JJ watched them both, sucking on a piece of apple like a lollipop. "I didn't wait for you. I moved on. I made a family, me and JJ. That's what's important to me now. But Ellie . . . You can be a part of that family, if you want to be."

"Dina . . ." Ellie said.

"Move back to Jackson. Move in with me. With us. And we can try this thing again."

"I can't," Ellie said.

"Why not?" Dina pressed.

"I just . . . I just can't." Ellie yanked her hands away from Dina, smacking her elbow against the table, startling JJ. He began to cry.

Hurt in her eyes, Dina swept up JJ in her arms and began to rock him. "It's okay, baby, it's okay," she cooed.

"You see?" Ellie said. "I'm too fucked up. Probably shouldn't even be around kids. What if he turned out like me?"

"I'd like that."

"You would?" Ellie asked, shocked.

"I mean, not all of this emotionally distant self-loathing bullshit you do," Dina said.

"Oh, gee, well thanks."

"But you're the strongest person I know. If JJ turns out to be half as strong as you, I won't have to worry."

"You'll still worry."

"Yeah," Dina admitted. "I will. You could worry with me?" She took Ellie's hand once again, carrying JJ in the other.

"I . . . I don't know," Ellie said.

"Think about it," Dina said. Pulling Ellie closer.

Their eyes met. Ellie felt drawn in as if Dina's gaze had its own gravity. Her lips parted.

Just then, the back door opened. Ellie jerked away, awkwardly shoving her hands in her jean pockets as George and May—Jesse's parents—entered. They froze, clearly aware they'd interrupted some sort of moment. "Hi, Ellie," George greeted stiffly.

"Hi, um, I'll, uh . . . I was just leaving," Ellie managed. Every time she saw these two, she was certain she could feel the accusation in their eyes. A tacit understanding that they wished it had been their son who'd come home instead of her. And how could she blame them? Though they'd never mistreated her, the tension was insufferable. She quickly made for the door.

"Ellie!" Dina stopped her.

"Yeah?" Ellie asked.

"Come see us again. Soon."

"Yeah," Ellie said.

"Say bye to Aunt Ellie, JJ."

"Bye, Ah-ellie!" His little hand waved.

Ellie smiled, and left.

* * *

That night, back at the farm, Ellie sat by the window of her studio, moonlight pouring in, her guitar in hand. Gazing out, the place looked empty. Barren. She didn't keep livestock. Still hated that fucking barn. Tried to start a vegetable patch but everything died. The farm wasn't alive without Dina here. But Ellie stayed anyway. A self-imposed exile.

Unbidden, her maimed hand worked the frets while the other strummed. "If I ever were to lose you . . ." Her hands stopped. Head drooping. A lump in her throat.

She put down the guitar, reached into her pocket and withdrew a broken wristwatch. Her fingers traced over the shattered surface, having long memorized every crack, every fracture. She could pick this watch out of a thousand others by touch. The grief still as present as two years ago.

How she felt went beyond love, or hate. Joel was a part of her. A part of her story. And as much as she still loathed what he'd done to save her, she was also grateful, so fucking grateful there had been someone in this world who would do so much, just for her. Was there anyone else who would do the same? Dina? Tommy?

No. Only Joel. Only Joel would choose to save her. Even if it was because of Sarah, even if Ellie was just a proxy . . . Only Joel could love her that much. And only Ellie was allowed to hate him for it. Not Abby, not anybody else. Just her.

But Joel was gone. And he'd left too much behind. He was supposed to be the one to carry it. All that anger, guilt, that love and sadness . . . All that blame. Everything there was between them. He was supposed to be the one. But he was gone. Now she had to carry it herself. And she'd only gone and fucked it up worse.

"Goddammit, Joel . . ." _Why aren't you here?_

Knock-knock-knock!

Ellie stuffed the watch back in her pocket, and grabbed her revolver from the nearby table. She paused halfway down the stairs and called, "Who is it?"

"Ellie! Open this goddamn door!"

"Tommy . . ." Drunk again, sounded like. And perennially pissed off at the world. Ever since Seattle, he'd never been the same.

Ellie tucked the revolver into the back of her waistband and headed for the door. She opened it. Tommy was on the other side, his scarred face twisted with rage.

"What's—?" Ellie began.

He decked her.

Ellie reeled, staggering back into the house. "What the fuck, Tommy?!"

"You're a fucking liar!" Tommy bellowed, and hit her again.

Ellie dropped down to one knee. Vision spinning. Tasting iron. She saw him reeling up for another hit, so she punched him right in the crotch. Tommy doubled over, and Ellie backed the hell up, grabbing the revolver, training it on him. "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

"You fucking lied to me," Tommy grunted. "To all of us!"

"You're drunk. Get the fuck out of my house," Ellie replied.

Tommy laughed. "Abby's alive," he said.

"Bullshit," Ellie said.

"Don't bother denying it," Tommy said. "I seen her myself."

"What?"

"She's here. In Jackson. Got her in the lockup. Says she needs to talk to you."

Ellie slowly lowered the gun. "Shit."


	3. Landfall

DISCLAIMER: All art, characters, and concepts are property of Naughty Dog. This work is purely an homage and not for profit.

Chapter 2

Landfall

_Two years earlier_

Catalina Island. A paradise turned into a fortress of chainlink fences and barbed wire. Abby was feverish when they picked her up, barely conscious, Lev still out cold. She tried to tell them who she was, but all that came out of her mouth was a slurry babble. Had her wounds gone septic? Had she taken too much head trauma? Had the months of torture broken her completely? She didn't know.

And you know what? It didn't fucking matter. All that mattered were the shiny round tags hanging round the necks of the men and women who pulled her and Lev out of the boat and dragged them up the beach.

Fireflies. She'd found fucking Fireflies.

She glanced over to see Lev slowly coming to as he was dragged beside her. He blinked at her in disbelief. She managed a smile.

* * *

Two days later, her fever had broken. She lay in the infirmary, having her wound dressings changed by a sandy-haired young medic named Miles. Sean Miles. He reminded her of Owen. "Shit," she muttered.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm . . . I'm fine." She wasn't fine. She was just doing the Abby thing. Bottling it up until she eventually exploded. The Rattlers, those abhorrent fucks . . . They'd be in her nightmares. But it was that girl . . . That fucking girl. _Goddammit._ She couldn't stop thinking about Ellie. No, it was more than that. She was afraid of Ellie. Of what she was capable of.

 _And what am I capable of?_ She didn't know anymore.

"All done," Miles said.

"Thanks, doc."

"Not a doctor, but you're welcome." He smiled and left. She watched him go.

She turned to Lev—dozing on the cot opposite hers. He was in better shape overall, though thoroughly exhausted. He was a damn tough kid. Basically the only family she had left. She didn't understand when or why things had become that way, but she had to look out for him now.

Just then, he opened his eyes. "How are you?" he asked.

"Fantastic," she said.

"That's a joke."

"Mhm."

He closed his eyes again. "Abby."

"Yeah, Lev?"

"When we're better, can you teach me to be strong?"

"I don't know if I'm strong," Abby said. "I'm more of a wreck most of the time, honestly."

"I mean . . . Can you teach me to have strong muscles?"

"Oh. Yeah, Lev. I can do that."

"Thanks."

"I'll get you buff in no time. You know 'buff'? Hey, Lev?" She looked over and could see he'd already fallen back to sleep. She smiled.

"Abby?" A Firefly entered, looking around.

"Over here," she called.

The Firefly stepped aside, and another man entered: tall, gray-haired, with glasses on an aquiline nose, wearing a lab coat. His gaze was sharp, raptor-like as he located her. He pulled up a chair. "We meet again," he said.

"I don't know you," she said, minding her wounds as she sat up to face him.

"I suppose not, though as I said, we have met."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You must have been two or three years old at the time."

"Who are you?" she pressed.

"My name is Dr. Peter Kallowell. I'm a former colleague of your father."

"Then . . ."

"How would you like to take a walk with me? Are you feeling up to it?"

"Sure." Abby groaned and pushed herself up from her cot. Her body was still covered in cuts and bruises. In spite of the painkillers she was on, her shoulder throbbed from where Ellie had stabbed her. She didn't care. She needed to move. Do something. Anything to take her mind off the last couple months.

Dr. Kallowell appeared to notice her discomfort, but didn't comment. Instead he led her out of the infirmary—a wing of a much larger villa, which had been converted for triage and medical care. Honestly she couldn't believe the opulence of this place. Had it seriously belonged to one person, or one family? The gluttony of the old world was never ending, it seemed.

Walking behind Kallowell, she found herself searching the faces of her fellow Fireflies. Desperate to find someone she knew. Most had perished at Salt Lake, and Ellie had taken care of Owen and the rest. But there had to be someone. There had to be.

Unfortunately, all those who looked back at her were strangers. She sighed.

"Feeling wistful?" Kallowell asked.

"Not exactly," Abby replied. _Did he really know my dad?_

"Don't worry. I think you'll be quite delighted with what I have to show you."

"If you say so."

Kallowell brought her down a winding hill towards a second villa with stucco walls and fluted ceramic roofing, where Fireflies were hauling loads of boxes inside. Most were sealed and unmarked, but she caught a glimpse of a couple pieces of high-end medical research equipment poking out of the tops of the open ones. Centrifuges. DNA sequencers. The only reason she recognized them was because of how indelibly her father and his work was marked in her memory.

Suddenly it became difficult to breathe. Memories flooding back. Her father, Salt Lake, Owen . . . She fought down the urge to scream. She'd found the Fireflies, yes, but it was never the Fireflies that mattered. It was who the Fireflies represented. What they represented. All of that was gone. She stumbled, leaning against the wall for support.

"Are you all right?" Kallowell asked.

No, she wasn't fucking all right. "What is all this?" she asked, instead of answering.

"You'll see," Kallowell replied.

He took her into the villa, down a sunny corridor bustling with people. Some were armed—soldiers, like her. But others wore civilian clothes, some carrying clipboards, a few even dressed in white lab coats like Kallowell's. Finally they entered a vast domed reception hall filled with all sorts of research equipment far beyond even what she could recognize. "Holy shit," she said.

"There's more," Kallowell said. "But I'm sure you get the idea."

"Where did you get this stuff?" she asked.

"We transported most of it from the Stanford campus. But there's a few more pieces of equipment I need, and they're not going to be easy to secure. That's where you come in."

"But why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Kallowell chuckled. "We're going to make a vaccine."


	4. Reunion

DISCLAIMER: All art, characters, and concepts are property of Naughty Dog. This work is purely an homage and not for profit.

Chapter 3

Reunion

Present day

The gates of Jackson parted as Ellie rode in, Tommy on his own horse behind her. She wore her backpack, her rifle on a strap over her shoulder, revolver at her hip. Just in case.

She'd expected an uproar in town, but apparently the news had been kept quiet. People were still finishing up in the greenhouses, working into the night to bring in the autumn harvest. Others hung out in the streets, done with their daily efforts, relaxing and socializing, a few with drinks in hand—the bright lights against the darkness always made everything seem festive. The babble rang in Ellie's ears, so loud, almost offensive. Being around this many people made her paranoid, even in Jackson. _Fuck. Fuck._ Her hands shook as she held the reins.

"Ellie!"

It was Dina, waiting in line at the butcher's. She shot Ellie a questioning gaze, and Ellie responded with a shake of her head, trying to convey that she'd fill her in later. Still, the worried look in Dina's eyes as Ellie rode off only tightened the knot in her stomach. The fact that Tommy didn't speak the entire time, only stared daggers into her back, didn't help.

They proceeded through the town proper to the southeast wall, where a small brig had been built, with steel bars forged in the smithy. Mostly it was home to the Jackson's few drunk and disorderlies, though not today. As Ellie and Tommy approached the squat wooden building and dismounted, the door swung open and Maria appeared, new wisps of gray coloring her fine blonde hair. "You can go on in," she said to Ellie.

"You think that's wise?" Tommy said.

"You're not planning to set her free, are you?" Maria asked.

"Fuck no," Ellie said.

"There you go," Maria said.

Tommy grunted, and kicked the dirt.

Ellie brushed past them, entering the cool dark wooden brig. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, preparing herself. However as soon as she closed the door, she could hear Tommy and Maria arguing outside. "Shoulda just let me shoot that bitch," Tommy growled.

"We need to know why she's here," Maria countered. "And whether there's payback coming for Seattle. Ellie's our best shot."

"I don't trust her," Tommy said.

"Who? Ellie?"

"Yeah who do you think?"

Ellie frowned, trying to ignore it. She took one step, another. Peering into the cages on either side of the brig. A lone guard reading by lantern light glanced up at her, then back down at his book. No moral support there. _Shit._ Her hands were shaking even worse than before. She fingered the grip of her revolver and felt just a little bit safer.

She found Abby in the last cell on the right, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her hair was short like that day on the beach, but physically she looked stronger than ever, her arms bulging against the sleeves of her plain gray hoodie. She looked up at Ellie with hollow eyes. "Finally."

"Why the fuck are you here?" Ellie hissed. Her body grew tense, ready to fight. The image of Joel on the floor, bloody and battered, rose up in her mind, but she pushed it back down.

"You think I want to be here?"

"Answer the question."

Abby stood, approaching the bars. "I'm here to give you a second chance."

"Second chance? For what? To kill you?"

"Sure, I'll take you on," Abby said, unperturbed.

"Like you'll get the fucking chance," Ellie scoffed.

"But what I mean is . . . I'm offering you the chance to fix what Joel destroyed."

"Don't you say his fucking name," Ellie said, pulling out the revolver. Holding it tight to her side.

"Gonna shoot me?" Abby asked. Practically goading her.

"Maybe," Ellie spat.

Abby took a step back, folded her arms, leaning against the wall again. "I found Fireflies. After you let me go, back at the beach. I found them."

"So?"

"There's still hope. For a cure."

Ellie stared at her. Then, she laughed. "You kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? What is this?"

Abby didn't reply.

"Some ploy to get me out of town, so you can take me out?" Ellie prodded. "Come on. You'll have to do a lot better than that."

"You can make it right. Before it's too late," Abby said.

"You really think I'll just believe you? Seriously . . . I killed all your friends and this is the best you could come up with? Shit. You suck at this."

Abby growled, approached the bars again and grabbed them, shoulders hunched and feral. "I'd peel the skin off your bones if I could, you little bitch."

"What's stopping you?" Ellie taunted. "Aside from these bars, I mean."

"It's not about—"

 _Dong-gong!_ The alarm bell sounded.

"Shit." Abby grabbed the bars. "Look. I know you don't trust me. But I'm not trying to set you up. I'm being tracked, and we need to get out of here. Leave Jackson, the both of us. Right now."

"You're right," Ellie said. "I don't trust you. I hope you fucking rot in here." She turned away, heading for the exit. One hand still gripping the revolver, the other balled in a fist.

"Ellie," Abby hollered. "They're here for us! Those Swarmer freaks! If we don't leave, everyone will die. Hey! Hey! Listen to me!"

Ellie's face was cold as Abby's cries followed her out of the brig. Outside, Tommy and Maria were gone. She quickly spotted them climbing the wall to the ramparts, Maria far ahead, Tommy limping behind her. Ellie hurried after them, taking the wooden stairs to the ladder up to the top. Already she could hear the moans and growls down below, and a bone-deep dread permeated through her. As she caught up with Tommy and Maria, she peered out over the edge of the wall.

It was a horde. A fucking horde.

They milled about outside of Jackson, shuffling and making pitiful cries. More filtered in every second. Ellie had never seen so many at once. She couldn't understand why they'd all congregate here. "What the fuck?" she breathed.

"Told you we shoulda killed her," Tommy growled. "Shoulda shot her on sight!"

"She's been in the brig for hours," Maria said. "She couldn't have done this."

"She said she was being tracked," Ellie said. _Fucking Abby. Goddammit!_

Just then, the crackle of a megaphone sounded from the distance. "Residents of Jackson," rasped an insidious voice. "We are the Children. We come with a proposition."

Maria turned to a nearby lookout. "Give me those," she said, and the lookout passed over his binoculars. She peered through them, then passed them to Tommy, who looked as well. After several seconds, he lowered them, hesitated, then passed them to Ellie.

Ellie scoped out the area. Scanning the ridge beyond the town, she noticed, right there, above the horde, a group of people in tattered robes. The horde seemed to ignore them completely. Why?

Before she could think on it too long, a man with stringy patchy hair in a long brown frock—horribly disfigured like he'd taken a shotgun blast to the face and somehow survived—raised the megaphone to his mangled lips. "Hand over the Firefly, and the immune girl, and we shall spare you."

"Immune girl?"

"What's he talking about?"

Murmurs swept across the town. _Shit._ Ellie grimaced. How the fuck did they know? She rubbed the side of her hand, where she'd burned and tattooed over her second bite mark, just like the first. It had to be Abby, right? How else could they have found out? Christ, that stupid bitch. _Shit. Shit!_

Ellie glanced over to see Maria and Tommy both staring at her—Maria concerned, Tommy looking like he wanted nothing more than to throw her to the horde. He wouldn't actually do that, would he? No. He couldn't. Joel would never forgive him.

"You have ten minutes," the frocked man grated. "Otherwise . . .

"Your sentence is death."


	5. Discovery

DISCLAIMER: All art, characters, and concepts are property of Naughty Dog. This work is purely an homage and not for profit.

Chapter 4

Discovery

_Eighteen months earlier_

Abby and Lev crept through the overgrown botanical garden on the east side of the UCLA medical campus. Heading for the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center a bit further west. From the campus outskirts to here, they'd taken out no less than thirty runners. Some clickers as well—huddled amidst the rampant weeds and vines. They seemed to like the damp and gloom. Dense tree cover made this place practically dark as night.

"This . . . campus. It was really all for learning?" Lev whispered.

"That's right," Abby affirmed.

"I never realized a school could be so large," Lev said.

_Craaaak . . ._

They froze. Listening. The noise repeated several times, emanating from their intended direction. Abby dropped into a crouch, Lev at her heels. After six months Abby was back at fighting weight, Lev having filled out a bit as well after putting in hard hours with her the gym on Catalina.

Though Abby had originally intended to take one of the adult Fireflies with her on this mission, Lev had insisted on accompanying her, and there weren't exactly many volunteers. Kallowell and the Firefly commander, Williams, had only ever intended to assign two people instead of sending a whole contingent. In a place like this, too many people could be a death sentence. One wrong move or sound could wipe out an entire unit. But with just the two of them, even if they alerted the infected, they had enough room to maneuver and hide before it was too late.

 _Craaaak . . ._ That sound again. Abby motioned to proceed slowly, and lifted aside a large fern blocking their path.

Ahead lay a pond covered in scattered leaves. _Craaaak . . ._

It was frogs. Not clickers. Fucking frogs. Some sat in the mud at the edge of the pond, while for others only their bulbous eyes could be seen poking above the water's surface.

Abby exhaled, standing. Lev followed suit. It was still morning, and Abby took a moment to check the direction of the small slivers of sunlight peeking in through the dense hanging foliage. It was way too easy to get lost in a place like this. "Should be just a bit further," she said.

"Lead the way," Lev replied.

They proceeded through the thick brush a while longer, taking out a few more runners and a couple of stalkers along the way. When they finally emerged into the sunlight, Abby spotted their destination in the distance—a towering white set of buildings, their top floors interconnected by raised bridges. The only problem was they still had to traverse the rest of the medical campus, cordoned off with varying abandoned quarantine-era obstructions—road blocks, fences, gates, and so on. Not to mention infected crawling all over the place.

"This could be a real shit show," Abby muttered.

"What's a shit show?"

"A really bad time."

"Hm. Definitely a shit show," Lev agreed. "Potentially."

The first thing they needed to do was get inside the Reagan building and confirm whether the equipment they needed was still viable. Big stuff, like a goddamn MRI machine. Thankfully the Fireflies had managed to pick up a couple of choppers somewhere. All she and Lev had to do after locating the gear was secure a route to the rooftop helipad, so Commander Williams could drop in a squad to carry that shit up top and airlift it the hell out of here. It was tough, but doable. If they could pull it off, it'd be worth it in the end.

Just then, laughter rang out, echoing through the vast open campus. Abby and Lev quickly ducked into cover. In response to the noise, a few of the infected howled and shuffled about, but they quickly grew quiet again and returned to an unassuming state.

 _What the hell?_ Abby pulled her rifle off her shoulder and looked through the scope. "Holy shit," she said.

"What is it?" Lev asked.

Abby passed the rifle over, still in shock. There were people over there, dressed in dirty ragged clothes, sitting on lounge chairs out in front of one of the buildings. Tossing around an old football. Every time someone caught the ball, the sound of leather clapping against their hands would send a few infected stumbling towards the receiver. But before long the infected would stop, heads cocked as if confused, and then return to shambling around aimlessly. This appeared to amuse these ragged people to no end, and with each bray of their laughter the infected would get riled up, then calm down again.

"I don't understand," Lev said, passing the rifle back to Abby.

"Me neither," Abby said. "But I doubt they're friendly."

"What do we do?"

"They want to fool around with infected? Then we assume they're just as dangerous. Let's move in."

Lev nodded in tacit approval. They were just about to press forward when . . .

Click. Click.

"In here." Abby and Lev quickly jumped into the bed of a wrecked pickup truck, going prone. Abby peered over the edge, searching for the clickers. But they weren't clickers. "Fool me once," Abby muttered.

"What?" Lev asked.

"Nothing. Look."

Lev joined Abby in looking out towards the source of the noise. They weren't clickers. They were human—more of those rag-dressed people. They walked while encircling a group of moaning runners, clucking their tongues the whole while. The runners would take a few steps towards the sound and then stop, perplexed, at which point the humans would click their tongues again and spur the infected back into following them. After a few minutes they dropped the infected off outside one of the buildings and headed back out on their own, perhaps to search for more.

"Abby." Lev sounded thoughtful. "Why don't the infected attack each other?"

"Why?" Abby repeated.

"Yes. Why?"

"Hm. I dunno. Maybe it's . . . pheromones?"

"What are pheromones?" Lev asked.

"It's, um . . . It's like a biochemistry thing. The body produces a chemical which gets released to send out airborne signals," Abby explained.

"I don't think I understand," Lev said.

"I don't really, either," Abby said. "But if they figured out how to get the infected to ignore them, this is bigger than getting our hands on that damn MRI."

"Should we retreat and report back?" Lev asked.

"No," Abby said.

"No?"

"I want to get my hands on one of these fuckers," Abby said.

"Abby," Lev admonished. "It's too risky."

"Don't worry," Abby said, with a grim smile. "I have a plan."


End file.
